


CHERRY BLOSSOM

by prettylittledarkstar



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, In Universe, Kylo Ren loses his will to live, Mental Illness, Rey: shining like a goddess—weeping tears of gold—reclaiming the man that once was kylo ren, Reylo - Freeform, Slow Burn, suidical thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 07:28:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12601396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettylittledarkstar/pseuds/prettylittledarkstar
Summary: [PREVIOUSLY 'what you don't tell no one (you can tell me)']He felt her always. Burning a hole into his chest, ripping a canyon into his mind. She couldn’t help it—she was too open.Yet the emptiness was within her, too. Less prominent, but still there. Still enough to make him wonder—not worry, but wonder.Did she, too, think of death so fondly? Likely not. She was a fighter. He was a quitter. He succumbed easily to things he could not bear. She did not.He wanted to die.





	CHERRY BLOSSOM

**Author's Note:**

> i have so many other things i should be working on. but i’ve been wanting to write this for ages and if i don’t get it out then i’ll go insane. it’s therapeutic for me, and that’s all i have to say. the song that inspired this is one that is dear to my heart. it’s a lullaby that ldr wrote called ‘cherry blossom’ and it touches my soul on a level that most music doesn’t. it’s a little different than how i usually write and i kept it purposely vague, only focusing on the parts that i wanted to. so here’s some melancholic reylo for you all.

YOU’RE VERY BRAVE, AND YOU’RE VERY FREE.

 

 

 

Therapy comes in many forms. For Kylo Ren, blind suffering was his anchor.

 

Reflection on mistakes and pain for conditioning to remind him that mistakes will never be treated lightly by the Supreme Leader.

 

The Supreme Leader was wise. He had gained knowledge through vigilance, and Kylo Ren would learn what was to be taught. Didn’t Supreme Leader advise him that compassion leads to disillusionment?

 

The Supreme Leader was powerful. He had gained power through pain, and now it was Kylo Ren’s turn to follow. Kylo Ren need not remind himself of the darkness but an hour or two; a gift for the foolish boy who had already found pain within his compassion.

 

The Supreme Leader had a plan. He would give Kylo Ren the tools to emerge from the ashes of the Resistance as a victorious ruler.

 

The Supreme Leader was forgiving. How could he kill his _son_ , who he raised to have a power greater than all who came before him?

 

_Through darkness I gain strength; through pain I gain power._

 

Kylo Ren chanted the mantra in his head for hours at a time, only ever ceasing when he spoke.

 

—————

 

“I know you’re in there, my little dove.”

 

The voice was a raspy whisper; quiet but determined, and one that hadn’t reached his ears in ages.

 

The General.

 

His eyes stung when he opened them. He blinked a few times, glanced around before tightening his arms against his restraints. He should’ve known, should’ve _remembered_ what happened, but the only memory he has is one of _her_. The scavenger. The minx who tried to seduce him to a path of weakness.

 

_“Kylo,” her voice came out in a sweet entreaty, breathless with exhaustion but hopeful, “Please. Come with me. I’ve seen who you are, and it’s not this. I’m not afraid. I felt it. I feel you.”_

 

_For a moment he stared at her: lip and forehead bloody, shoulders heaving, eyes wide and clear. She was beautiful. Even after Supreme Leader Snoke graciously reminded him that only the darkness was beautiful, he could not look away. She was something out of a dream, with her graceful strength and unwavering determination._

 

_Yet—the inky blackness was there, pooling into the recesses of his mind, blacking out any thoughts of her with an abruptness that left him dizzy. It blinded him from all but the pain of the moment, the ache behind his eyes and the sharp twinge in his side, still not fully healed from the bowcaster shot on Starkiller and then reopened with a blaster. The pain was inviting. It reminded him of his duty there: kill her, move to the next._

 

_Pain is constant. But so is the darkness._

 

“Ben.”

 

The General’s hopeful voice as she spoke the dead boy’s name left a shock of hatred to ripple through him. He lurched weakly against the restraints once more and found that his entire body felt numb, weak with an emptiness so full of nothing that it was an effort to even lift a pinky. When he tried summoning the Force, it snapped away from him like a glitch in a system. It felt oddly distant. The potent darkness didn’t permeate his mind at all.

 

It was empty in his head. Kylo Ren was alone in his head. He closed his eyes. His sight was too blurry, anyways.

 

“My son,” he heard her say, “My only son. He’s gone. You’re free.”

 

—————

 

Weeks passed. Or was it months? A year? Kylo still didn’t know how Snoke came to an end and he never asked. He cared little about it, cared little about the time he spent and even less about what he did or where he was. He craved death. He came to learn that the scav—Rey snuck onto his ship as he was meditating (he blames himself for not feeling her presence) and attempted to sedate him, but failed and faced a violent battle with him and his crew. But somehow she won. And somehow he ended up on this planet.

 

Isolated. Observed like an animal.

 

He had been there before, in years past. Yes, it was a _family_ place.

 

It was a palace. Towering windows overlooking a lake. Meadows of green. Hallways. Staff. Many rooms, many places to make death an option. But most of the time he just lay there on his back, in a room full of lavish mysteries he would not explore, not searching for death, but wishing it would find him.

 

—————

 

He felt her always. Burning a hole into his chest, ripping a canyon into his mind. She couldn’t help it—she was too open. Too open for what he was accustomed to. Too hopeful. Too full of unmasked emotion. Too much.

 

Yet the emptiness was within her, too. Less prominent, but still there. Still enough to make him wonder—not worry, but wonder.

 

Did she, too, think of death so fondly? Likely not. She was a fighter. He was a quitter. He succumbed easily to things he could not bear. She did not.

 

He wanted to die.

 

—————

 

On a day that the planet’s sun emerged too brightly from the horizon and peeked rudely through the drawn curtains, she visited him. There was no knock. He didn’t expect one.

 

Her voice was clipped and full of nonnegotiable promise.

 

“We’re going to the fields.”

 

—————

 

The heat was lazy and the sun stung his pale skin. He likely hadn’t been clothed or outside in months. But she had forced him to his feet and forced him to dress and forced him to fill a basket with food he liked. That was odd. It was the first time in many long years that anyone had asked him about what he liked, what he wanted. If was most certainly the first time since he had been in that palace.

 

“You do not want to die,” she said thoughtfully as she chewed on half a loaf of bread, no judgment in her voice, “You want to have meaning. That feeling of purpose was taken away from you. I know. But you are not worthless. You have strength that you do not believe you still hold. You have me.” The last part was quieter than the rest.

 

She was wrong. But he wouldn’t let her know that. He’d let her believe that she was getting through to him, let her tell his mother that he was doing better and it looked like things were changing.

 

A hole burned in his stomach as he glanced at the napkin in between them stacked with everything that brought him gluttonous pleasure. He hadn’t eaten in days. He felt the ache, the physical need for nourishment, but the pain that came along with that emptiness was such catharsis that he denied himself any sort of relief. He did this often; denying himself his basic needs in order to inflict that familiar suffering. His physique had paid dearly. No longer was he broad-shouldered and well built—his muscle tissue deteriorated long ago and left him as a hollow shell of skin and bone, the only remnants of his former self his height. His hair thinned, sometimes fell out in clumps. He could see his skeleton’s outline from his skin. But he didn’t care. Eventually his metabolism would eat at his heart and everything would be blissfully silent.

 

“Kylo,” she snapped, and he looked up to find her watching him with impassioned eyes. “Please eat. We brought it to share.”

 

He shook his head. He felt her bristle through the Force, felt her irritation spike.

 

“I know you’re hungry.”

 

He glanced longingly at the spread and felt the undeniable spike in heart rate at the thought of stemming his progress. He was so close. The weakness in his bones, the fog that clouded his brain, it all _meant something_. It meant that he was dying. And he was not about to let go of his disciplined actions so freely. Not—

 

A small hand was shoving a sweet-smelling fruit pastry under his nose before he could finish his thought. He glanced at her and saw the sadness in her eyes, the small, encouraging smile that graced her lips. He took it hesitantly, hating how nice and warm the flaky crust felt under his touch. It was her turn to look away as she lost herself in thought.

 

“I heard that this place once belonged to a beautiful queen,” she said shyly, her cheeks tinged a rosy pink, “Your grandmother. Your mo—Leia told me her story. I watched a holo of her making a speech before the Council. She was lovely—I…I can see who you got your ferocity from. It wasn’t him. It was her. The strength. Her passion is yours. Please don’t forget who you came from and what you were given.”

 

He didn’t respond, but Rey didn’t seem to mind. Kylo had taken an agonizingly small bite of the tart in his hand, and his taste buds received an equally agonizing flavor that made him ravenous. Unthinking and uncaring, he shoved the whole thing in his mouth before reaching for the bundle of dried meat that had yet to be opened. He downed it hungrily, shoving the guilt down with it and giving into his desires.

 

“What was her name again? Something with a ‘P.’” she wondered aloud, and Kylo was quick to answer.

 

“Padmé,” he said, his voice muffled by huge bites of wild apple and bread.

 

“That’s right. I think that’s a lovely name, something simple but very strange.”

  
She carried on like that for quite some time, gushing to him about how much she wishes she could’ve met her and how she would have loved such wonderful fabrics.

 

She was distracting him from things that mattered little. He appreciated it.

 

———————

 

Rey came the next day. This time she drew back the thick curtains and perched atop one of the many pieces of extraneous furniture in the bedroom. She was wearing one garment: a long, white linen piece that shifted with every movement she made and pooled at her feet when she sat. He thought it unusual for her to wear anything but a slight variation of her usual getup.

 

“We’re going to the caves.”

 

———————

 

Kylo Ren was a secret admirer of water. Always had been. So it was with slight pleasure that he stepped out of his hermit-room and dressed to visit the flooded caves of the property.

 

It was strange to sink his weakened body into the cool water of the underground pool, but once he adjusted he felt like—almost like his old self again. Before he lost the fight with himself. Before he came to the palace. He dunked his head under and proceeded to swim laps, only pausing to fill his lungs every once and a while. There was a definitive shift within him that he could feel. The labor of swimming was one that used to come with ease, and now it felt like a chore.

 

This twisted something inside of his chest. Had he really become so weak? When?

 

“If Padmé was a queen, does that make you royalty?” she asked him once his head emerged from the surface. She was lazing on the side of the nature-made pool, dragging her feet through the crystal clear water in slow patterns. He almost asked why she wasn’t swimming, but then he remembered—That’s right. Desert dwellers didn’t stumble across much water. Barely had enough to drink.

 

He thought about her question for a moment, then shrugged. “I guess.”

 

A smirk came onto her face. “Should I refer to you as ‘King’ now? Or ‘Your Majesty,’ how about that?”

 

Kylo felt his ears redden.

 

“Definitely not,” he scoffed, and shoved a wave of water at her. She shot her hands up to protect herself, but it was too late; she was wet. She froze, hands lowering to her sides as her expression darkened playfully.

 

He almost laughed when a wave of water came right back to him.

 

——————

 

On the third day there was a storm.

 

The storm was less than optimal for Rey, but Kylo didn’t mind. He enjoyed the rain.

 

——————

 

They sat on the floor in the middle of a narrow hallway. Well, laid on the floor. The hallway had windows aplenty for viewing the outside. Kylo laid sprawled on his back, chest rising and falling steadily as he stared out at the gray. Head to head, he could hear her breathing right by his ear. He felt that that was important—her breathing.

 

“I used to think rain was my favorite thing,” she began, her voice soft and lilting with the intention of a stream of consciousness, “The desert heat sucked every ounce of moisture from me. I craved even the smallest cloud. But I think now,” she paused, took a deep breath, continued, “I think you’re my favorite thing.”

 

Thunder grumbled comfortingly in the distance. Kylo brought his hand up to touch hers. She jumped a little before relaxing and squeezing his fingers.

 

For the first time in ages, he genuinely smiled.

 

———————

 

A week passed. Then two. On their fifteenth day together, they went into town upon Rey’s request.

 

He opposed the idea so strongly at first that her steadfastness _almost_ wavered.

 

 _Almost_.

 

———————

 

The bustling streets swarmed with energy and voices, all the little people occupied within themselves and unconcerned about what a foreign couple was fighting a street vendor over.

 

“Oranges costed only half a credit per measure last week! Don’t play stupid, you kriffing bantha fodder!” A fiery voice, one decidedly feminine and enraged floated into the street. The tall, lanky man that stood behind her moved to act as a barrier between the quickly elevating argument.

 

“Rey…” Kylo started, dragging out the syllable as if his life depended on it. She paused mid-insult to look at him and hold up a finger.

 

“We _will_ have oranges. I promise.” Then, her demeanor changed, as if she had all of the sudden remembered something.

 

Turning to face the sweaty vendor, visage very still, she repeated, “We _will_ have oranges. For _last week’s_ prices.”

 

The man straightened and complied immediately, repeating her words back and stuffing a little too many of the round fruits into a carrier and handing it over.

 

Rey skipped happily down the street afterward, oranges swinging by her side. Kylo snorted and looked down at her satisfied self.

 

“What?” she asked, “Never used a dumb mind trick before?”

 

“I was wondering why you didn’t use that in the first place, Miss Kenobi,” he teased, and she shoved her shoulder into his arm.

 

Was this happiness?

 

——————

 

On the twentieth day the darkness came back. He woke to a hollow chest and a creeping anxiousness consuming each of his vertebrae. He knew she would be up by his side any second now, wondering where he was. He had recently taken to getting up on his own.

 

The door swung open and a ferocious, tiny beast stormed in. The beast threw the curtains back and allowed the sun to burst in. Kylo noiselessly slammed his pillow on his head and flung the covers over himself.

 

“Kylo,” she said, irritation clouding her voice, “Get out of bed.”

 

“Leave,” he muttered, his voice muffled by the pillows. She grabbed his sheets and ripped them off of him, harshly removing his warmth and exposing his body. He sat up and glared at her before gripping the sheets and once more burrowing in them.

 

It enraged him—he should’ve seen it coming, really, but it enraged him nonetheless when she Force blasted the blankets entirely off the bed and to the other side of the room.

 

“We were doing so well, Tooka, please,” she entreated gently as she perched on the edge of his bed, her face softer than it had been seconds before. She had taken to calling him that fondly and excessively, and usually he didn’t mind. Sometimes he even found it endearing. Today was different.

 

“Please,” he begged, “Not today. Enough of the nicknames. Enough of the meaningless chatter. I’m not getting any better. We both know it.”

 

“But you are getting better,” she argued weakly, sounding a little hurt.

 

“No, Rey, I’m not. How do you know I’m getting better? Is it because I _seem_ happier? Tell me, Dr. Therapist, what’s the prognosis?” His voice was getting louder by the second and he knew if he continued he would hurt her even more. But Kylo Ren has no filter. Or an off button.

 

“You jumping around me nonstop isn’t helping. I wanted to die three weeks ago and guess what? I still want to _fucking die_. To get rid of this—this emptiness. Nothing you say or do or act out will help. I’m not an experiment, not a toy to play with. Now get the hell out of my room.”

 

His chest was heaving. A tear slipped out of her eye and she brushed it away quickly before leaving. She slammed the door shut with a wave of the Force.

 

—————

 

It was three days without her. He felt her there, still in the palace some ways away. Silly girl, why did she stay? Didn’t she know he’d destroy her?

 

But he was still without her. Without her breathing, her laughter.

 

And initially he didn’t care.

 

The hunger pains came back on day one. He welcomed them. The descent back to his former self was no longer a threat. He was back where he needed to be.

 

——————

 

A week without her. He hadn’t gotten out of bed.

 

——————

 

Two weeks and his ribs were showing again. He was close.

 

——————

 

A day later there was a knock. He didn’t answer. Why would a dead man answer?

 

——————

 

The next day she didn’t knock. He heard the door slam against the wall with such ferocity that he was tempted to look up. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. He was too weak.

 

“Damn you, Kylo Ren.” She sounded like she was crying. A warm hand grabbed his wrist and she confirmed his theory when she failed to choke back a sob. “Why do you value your life so little?”

 

He almost felt bad.

 

It came as a surprise when her strong hands hefted him up and she carried him to the fresher and stripped both him and herself. She sat them on the floor as the water began to fall.

 

Water fell in warm rivulets down his naked back and he was barely aware of the soft, rich lather Rey was working into his skin because she sat on her knees and sobbed the whole time.

 

“You fucking”—hiccup—“idiot. Don’t you know I care about you? I would…I would kill for you, yet you want to kill yourself. Well guess what, Ren? I won’t let you die. I’m going to take such good care of you. No need to thank me, I’m doing it all for you. Because…Because I _love_ you.”

 

How could anyone love him? Especially her? She was spouting nonsense. He didn’t deserve her. Didn’t deserve her beautiful face smiling up at him like he was the universe. Didn’t deserve her sweet, brawling soul to keep him in line. He didn’t deserve anything.

 

And yet she scrubbed the filth off his body until he was squeaky clean, changed him into what she thought were the comfiest clothes ever, and forced him to eat three filler bars meant to keep starving children alive for weeks. And then she brought him to the palace’s commons area and laid him on the lounger and curled up next to him, tears making his shirt wet as she grabbed onto the fabric so tight he feared it’d rip.

 

“Tooka,” she whispered to him through mild sobs, tiny hands still gripping hard, “Promise me you’ll stay.”

 

——————

 

“We don’t need to fix you. You’re not broken. You’re just going through a hard time,” Rey said.

 

Two more weeks. The darkness had become smaller, something more manageable. He was feeling less like a black hole, less like a space vacuum. They sat in the meadow again, and Rey worked her deft fingers on crafting an intricate crown of flowers.

 

“It just feels so…empty. I…” he trailed off, huffing frustratedly as the anxiety of revealing the darkest parts of his brain to her grew stronger. He didn’t want her to learn of all his disturbing thoughts. They fucked so heavily with his already fucked up head, he didn’t want to know what they would do to Rey.

 

“Hey,” she said, and gently grasped his chin, craning her neck to come eye to eye. “You can tell me. We will figure it out together.”

 

He nodded seriously. Her eyes sparkled in the sun as she studied him for a moment. Then, her features broke out into a smile. She resumed working on her crown, still sporting that giddy smile. He frowned a little.

 

“What?” he said, not understanding her sudden burst of joy. She shook her head.

 

“It’s nothing,” she said, but could barely contain a little girlish giggle.

 

“Rey…”

 

She laughed again and said, “Tooka…You’re _such_ a little loth cat.”

 

Kylo rolled his eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

 

“No but, seriously,” she straightened her expression but still remained contented. He almost thought there were tears in her eyes. “Your hair is looking nice and shiny. I love it when you have a little Kylo-floof. And you’re filling into your clothes nicely. You—You look really well.”

 

His cheeks reddened. He never knew how good such an awkward compliment would feel.

 

“You look good too.” That was the only thing he thought of to say back? Maker, help him.

 

But she laughed, tucking a piece of hair behind her ears and looking away bashfully. They continued their afternoon in the sun, and shortly after their conversation Rey completed her crown and held it up for Kylo to see, beaming at him and thoroughly enjoying his praise.

 

“I made it for you,” she said, suddenly shy. He gave her a half smile and took it. When he began to place it on his head she gasped.

 

“Wait! Let me fix your hair!” She scrambled to her knees and crawled over to him. Her fingers grabbed pieces of his hair and worked them into braids. Kylo closed his eyes contentedly, wishing he could remember this moment forever. The lazy wind, her soft breathing, the grass shifting around them. He loved this.

 

“Oh, and Rey?”

 

“Yes, tooka?”

 

“I love you too.”

 

——————

 

Therapy comes in many forms. For Kylo Ren, love was his saving grace.

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first time i ever actually cried while writing a piece of fiction. i’m not a crier. only three books have ever made me tear up, and only one truly made me sob. 
> 
> i actually contemplated whether or not to post this, but i decided to. and yes, i did write this all today. in less than six hours. that's how desperately i needed to get it out.
> 
> tell me what you thought and if you liked it then leave a kudos. 
> 
> xx anya


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